


a new year in chicago

by SerpentineJ



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, new year floof?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:31:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5599825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentineJ/pseuds/SerpentineJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser rings in the New Year with the police officers at the station, but, most importantly, with Ray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a new year in chicago

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: GUESS WHAT IM WRITING AGAIN and it's f/k of course. of c ourse.

There's a great deal of talking.

A nice kind of talking: warm chatter, the occasional shout from Louis, glasses of champagne that Ray knows for a fact is mixed with quite a bit of the whiskey from Dewy's desk clasped in people's hands. It's snowing outside, and someone's feeding Dief cheese and crackers, which is a terrible idea- he'll be gassy for hours- and Fraser is...

Fraser's nowhere to be seen.

Ray scans the partygoers, trying to locate his ridiculously red uniform, which he hasn't taken off, even though most of the cops here have slung their jackets over their chairs and put away their holsters.

"Ray!" Kowalski turns around, and oh, there he is, holding a glass and looking... a little buzzed. His hair is less perfect than usual, if only by a few strands, but there's a flush high up on his cheeks and the drink in his hand can't be the first, and damn, what did Dewy put in that champagne? How is it possible to mix a drink like that?

"Hey, Frase." He says. "You- eh, you look like you've had a bit to drink, man."

Fraser reaches him and blinks.

"Oh," he says, "a bit. Not much. In the Northwest Territories, you see, Ray, alcohol is used as a way to keep warm internally, so many Mounties develop an unusually high tolerance-"

He keeps talking, and Ray stops listening gives him a once over. It's not obvious that he's a little drunk, but Ben's more loose-limbed than usual, less controlled- usually he seems to calculate every move he makes, every word that comes out of his mouth, and there's something about him now that makes Ray think that those boundaries have... lowered a little.

"and really, all I can tell you for certain is that three bottles of excellently aged bourbon, a dead caribou, a pack of ravenous hunting dogs, and a pack of matches does not make for a proper New Year's." Fraser finishes. "In fact, there was very little proper about it, especially after Sam Frandilom drank a bottle and a half of the bourbon."

Ray frowns at him.

"That's... interesting, Fraser." He responds. "Maybe you should lay off the... champagne."

He tries to ease the glass out of Fraser's hand.

"Happy New Year, Fraser." Ray mutters. "You're s'posed to be the responsible one."

Fraser furrows his eyebrows at him, and says, "I am responsible, Ray. I am not intoxicated."

Kowalski rolls his eyes. He's always been a lightweight, to be honest- something to do with his skinny frame and high metabolism rate- so he takes care of how much he drinks unless he really wants to get smashed.

"You're kinda buzzed, Frase." He replies. "I don't know how much whiskey they've been mixing with that champagne."

Fraser frowns. "Hard liquor." He murmurs. "That would explain why I'm experiencing such a loss of inhibition over so few drinks."

Ray huffs a laugh. "Loss of inhibition." He says. "Didn't know you could lose your politeness, Fraser."

"Oh, inhibition is not common decency or manners, Ray." Fraser replies. "Just the filter that prevents one's thoughts from becoming action."

Ray looks skeptically at him before quickly downing the last of Fraser's champagne-whiskey mix, feeling the slight burn tingle down his throat.

"You telling me all your thoughts are polite?" He asks. "'Cause I do not believe that."

Now Fraser's beginning to look more like himself. "Well, no, Ray," he says, "but is it really so difficult to believe that one's thoughts can be courteous in nature?"

"Yes." Ray says. "Yes, Fraser, it is. Nobody has pure thoughts one hundred percent of the time."

Fraser shifts his weight between his feet and folds his arms in front of him. 

"Ray," he responds, "the purity of thoughts is irrelevant- it's the manner in which they are said, whether that's polite or not."

Kowalski stares at him for a moment before shaking his head.

"You're a little nutty, Frase." He mutters.

Before Benton can form a response, though, Franchesca calls out, "okay, okay, it's starting!"

A ten second countdown starts on the screen.

"Ten!" They shout. "Nine!"

"All I'm saying is," Ray says above the noise, "that-"

"Eight!"

"-it's stupid to think-"

"Seven!"

"-that everyone-"

"Six!"

"-who has thoughts-"

"Five!"

"-whether they be pure or impure-"

"Four!"

"-has them politely-"

"Three!"

"-or even thinks about politeness-"

"Two!"

"-when they're having them-"

"One!"

"-because who has polite impure thoughts- mmmph-"

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" A great cheer goes up from the group at the station. Franchesca's lips are planted on Turnbull's, eyes screwed shut. Lieutenant Welsh is touching his cheek where a springy young cadet who he's taken a mentorly shine to has pecked him. 

Fraser's hands are cupping Ray's face, and his lips are attached firmly to his.

Nobody around them seems to notice it, and Ray's eyes are open in shock- he doesn't respond, because his dumb mind is busy running at a million miles an hour.

Fraser? Him? Kissing?

They break apart, and there are people all around them cheering, clapping, whistling, but not for them- for the new year on the television screen.

"Wow." Ray says, shell-shocked. "Uh."

Is Fraser- blushing? There's a stain high on his cheeks, and he scratches the back of his neck self-conciously, holding his hat to his chest.

"I'm sorry, Ray." He says. "I seem to have- let the celebrations get away from me."

Ray can't seem to speak, but his traitorously slow mind has come to the conclusion that maybe- scratch that, definitely- would like that kissing thing to happen again.

"I do hope that this won't affect our partnership in any way, because I find your company and insight both valuable and helpful- ah-"

"Shut up." Ray mutters, pressing himself against Fraser's red-clad front in one move, grabbing the back of his head in both hands and kissing him. The other man responds after a second, pressing close to Kowalski, dropping his hat on the desk beside them to slide his hands around Ray's back.

"Hmm." Ray murmurs, pulling back a little. "Not bad. You gonna regret this in the morning, Frase?"

"Somehow," Fraser responds, smiling, "I don't think so."

The party surrounding them seems to melt away, into a blur of gold and gray and green. Louis sees them from a corner of the room, and elbows Dewy, nodding at them. Dewy snorts. Franchesca looks like she can't decide if she regrets her previous actions or not. Lieutenant Welsh has lit up one of those Cuban cigars he technically doesn't smoke. 

Diefenbaker drops at their feet and let out a low yowl. His muzzle is covered in cracker crumbs.

All in all, Ray thinks, arms around Fraser's shoulders, a pretty good start to the new year.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: happy friggin new year! [come punch me in the face](http://serpentinej.tumblr.com)


End file.
